


Beauty in Simplicity: A Collection

by daretogobeyondtheunknown



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 14:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11807481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daretogobeyondtheunknown/pseuds/daretogobeyondtheunknown





	1. Chapter 1

“That isn’t for you to decide, Clarke!” Lexa exclaimed, hands running through her dark brown locks in frustration.

An equally frustrated blonde tossed her arms high, her features framed with frustration, “And why the hell not, Lexa?” Narrowing her eyes, Clarke seethed, “So when it’s convenient, it becomes _we_ but the moment something serious happens it is back to _you_ and _me_ , is that it? Well, fuck you, Lexa.”

Feeling the frustration seep from her very pores, leaving her knees weak, Lexa collapsed back into the cushions of the couch behind her, “Clarke that isn’t what I meant.”

With a pointed stare, Clarke snorted, “Of course it isn’t, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t say it.”

“Clarke, can we please-”

“No! You don’t get to just do,” Clarke motioned between them furiously, “ _ **this**_ every time.”

A heavy sigh slipped passed Lexa’s lips as the weight of the day’s events settled upon her shoulders, smothering and unbearable, “Clarke,” Lexa reached out only to have the other woman step back; a twinge of pain from the reaction ripping Lexa through to her core, “Clarke, please,” she choked, biting back tears.

“I can’t keep doing _**this**_ ,” sobbed Clarke, unable to restrain her own tears, “When does it stop? When is enough, enough?”


	2. Squidy

“Babe, what… are you wearing?” **  
**

Lexa glancing up from the book before her, the thick black rims of her reading glasses slipping a fraction down the bridge of her nose, “I’m sorry?” Inquired the Polis native bewilderedly.

Padding across the space separating them, bottom lip captured between pearly white teeth, Clarke motioned to brunette seated with her back to the arm of the couch as though the action alone spoke for itself.

Unconsciously, Lexa shuffled on the couch, leaving a space between herself and the back of the couch for Clarke to slip into, “Sorry, I don’t speak _this_ ,” chuckled the brunette, mimicking Clarke’s motioning.

“Tsk, you speak everything else, why not _this_?” Teased Clarke as she settled into the space created for her. A smile graced the corners of her lips when the brunette released the edge of her reading material, snaking it around Clarke’s back and allowing it to settle upon her waist, tracing habitually .

“I am but a mere mortal,” Lexa hummed.

Muffled by the material of Lexa’s jumper, Clarke snorted, “Really, babe? Mere mortal?” Peppering light kisses to the underside of the brunette’s jaw, Clarke toyed with the dark drawstring, “Hardly.”

Clearing her throat, a pink hue dusting her cheeks, Lexa tapped her thumb against Clarke’s hip, “Thank you, Clarke. So, ehm, my clothes?”

Clarke chuckled, tapping her index finger twice against the black and white hoodie Lexa was wearing, “ _This_.”

Furrowing her brows at the article of clothing in question, Lexa was at a loss, “My squidy?”

“It has a name?” Clarke asked incredulously as she traced the white tentacles graphic that stretched from mid chest to hip; the base of the sweater darker than the darkest depths of the ocean, “Why am I even surprised. So where does a mere mortal, like yourself, acquire a squidy?”

“Raven,” Lexa beamed with such pride and Clarke swore not even a child, in their greatest state of achievement, could outshine the twenty-seven year old CEO in her squidy.

The hour that followed of squiducation and in-depth recount of the events leading and following the creation of the squidy left Clarke even more in love.


	3. fascination

The first time it happened, Clarke was seated at the kitchen island surrounded by textbooks and piles of revision notes. **  
**

Lexa wandered into the kitchen, phone held between her shoulder and ear, speaking in a language Clarke knew nothing about. The studying Clarke had - halfheartedly - been doing was quickly neglected in favour of watching her girlfriend of four months maneuver about the kitchen.

She was dressed in a two-toned pullover hoodie and simple black sweats, Clarke observed, hair damp from a recent shower. It was a stark contrast to the Alexandria Woods who owned and operated a healthily expanding research based company in the Greater Vancouver region. The same Alexandria Woods whose wardrobe consisted of virtually nothing below the realm of business casual - save the section of meticulously organized athletic attire and the even slimmer section of, as Lexa called it, ‘casual pickings’.

Resting her elbow on the counter top, Clarke allowed her chin to settle on the open palm, smiling as Lexa unconsciously seemed to nod along to certain points in the conversation. It was one of the many subtleties in Lexa’s mannerisms that enthralled Clarke.

While whatever Lexa set upon the stove warmed, phone still tucked in the crook of her neck, she turned toward Clarke, leaning her body against the island.

Clarke observed Lexa curiously as her hand crept forward, lithe fingers dusting across the exposed skin of Clarke’s extended arm, sending shivers echoing down her spine. Lexa’s brows furrowed as a lull grew in the conversation and if Clarke wasn’t a smiling mess at the first contact she was now as Lexa flipped her hand over, looping patterns on Clarke’s now exposed palm.

Then as quickly as it had come, it was gone, Lexa retreating to the bubbling contents upon the stove.

–

The second time it happened, Clarke was slightly more prepared.

Waiting for Lexa to finish her conference call so they could try the new Thai restaurant down the street, Clarke flopped rather dramatically onto the ivory coloured couch she may or may not have convinced Lexa would look stunning in her cozy office space. She wasn’t wrong and the fact that Clarke now had one of the most cushy couches to lounge on while in Lexa’s office just happened to be an excellently added perk.

Closing her eyes - one arm resting across her forehead, the other across her stomach - Clarke felt a wave of drowsiness wash over her. A potential combination of the comforts of the couch and Lexa’s husky voice.

So when Lexa grew quiet, wandering over to the side of the couch, Clarke remained oblivious, only drawn from her hazy dreamlike world when a soft warm finger absently traced across her forearm, looping over her wrist to settle on her palm.

Blinking her eyes open, Clarke regarded the upward curl at the edge of Lexa’s lips and the drooping tension in her shoulders.

Then, just as it had the first time, Lexa withdrew her gentle touch far too quickly for Clarke’s liking, returning to her desk and conversation.

–

The third time, Clarke was ready.

The previous weeks had seen Clarke’s attention directed toward a patient whose unique combination of symptoms were puzzling not only to herself but to her fellow colleagues and together, they had been pouring over dozens and dozens of articles in a hopes to gain greater insight.

When a suitable diagnosis was reached and the appropriate treatment implemented, Clarke sunk into Lexa’s couch with a heavy sigh of relief.

The other woman had yet to show herself in her own apartment, but noting the time, Clarke knew she likely wouldn’t be home for another four hours. Lexa was nothing if not strictly specific with her time. Where Clarke was whimsical and spontaneous, Lexa was premeditated and calculated. It had been an uphill battle, melding the unique qualities in a way that brought out the best in both of them, but six months in and Clarke knew it was worth every ounce of effort it had taken.

Eyes fluttering closed, Clarke smiled into the material of the pillow. It smelled of sandalwood and peppermint.

The sound of keys turning the lock woke Clarke and with a lazy smile she greeted Lexa who was speaking into the Bluetooth headset Clarke had gotten her last month for her birthday.

Patiently, Clarke waited on the couch, shuffling her body toward the back of the couch, as Lexa placed her keys on the hook, set her handbag on the table near the door and hung her coat in the hall closet. And when she finished, as Clarke predicted, Lexa padded over, situating herself in the space Clarke had created. Though her words were for the other on the phone, the smile was only for Clarke.

When Lexa’s expression shifted from the soft smile to pensive stare, Clarke waited with baited breath. And when Lexa reached out, thoughts focused on the subject matter of the call, her fingers tracing down Clarke’s arm and pausing on the peak of Clarke’s knuckle, Clarke countered.

Twisting her hand, fingers brushing against Lexa’s wrist, Clarke intertwined their fingers.

Lexa paused mid-sentence, looking directly into Clarke’s sky blue eyes with a puzzled expression.

Clarke only shrugged and with a bright smile and shake of her head, Lexa gave their intertwined hands a squeeze, resuming her conversation with great vigor.

–

The fourth time sends Clarke’s heart fluttering and thinks she might be falling in love all over again.

Physical affection had never been a strong point for Lexa, Clarke knew that prior to the beginning of their relationship. Most of their most affectionate moments, Clarke initiated.

At first it was a struggle, constantly wanting to reach out to someone who genuinely would cringe. Clarke felt unwanted, dejected, as though something about the way she was might not be right.

But as the relationship developed and Lexa became more open, she communicated the sources of her discomfort and began making a conscious effort to step outside of the safety net she had built to allow Clarke in. In turn, Clarke learned the instances in which Lexa felt most comfortable to physical contact and those when Clarke knew it was best to give space.

Social gatherings were one of those space times; close but not entangled, fingers occasionally brushing but rarely intertwined. Lexa had explained it as her desire for privacy, that the most important relationships she held were not for the prying eyes of strangers. It was a level of trust she gave few.

So when an elderly married couple engaged the pair in conversation, directing the question of initial attraction and long term goals together, and Lexa’s brow furrows in thought, any response Clarke might have been formulating died: soft warm fingers were brushing absently across Clarke’s wrist before seemingly crawling down her skin to greet each one of her fingers with a gentle caress.

Whatever response Lexa provided, fell on deaf ears as Clarke’s focus was lost and yet ensnared by the woman beside her. The pounding in her chest echoed in her ears and when Lexa stared at her with such tenderness, Clarke wondered if Heaven existed if it might feel a little something like this.

–

Somewhere between the twentieth and thirtieth time - honestly, Clarke lost count somewhere around twelve - she knows that this woman is the best and the worst thing for her heart as Clarke finds herself in a perpetual state of falling in love.

Wedged in the corner of the couch, legs extended on the outwardly jutted cushion of the L shaped furniture, well worn book in hand, Clarke was cozy. It was the only way she could describe it.

A cool breeze crept into the apartment as the front door opened and Lexa entered, conversing in what Clarke could now identify as Trigedasleng, Lexa’s native tongue.

On her way to the bedroom for a change of clothes, Lexa would have to pass through the living room, and by the pause in her conversation, raised brow and stalk still stance two strides into the room, she had only now just noticed Clarke’s presence.

Clarke had expected that once the shock wore off, Lexa would simply continue on to change so she merely smiled and mouthed her greeting, gaze returning to the pages of her book. What she hadn’t expected was for Lexa to lie down upon the open length of the couch, undoubtedly wrinkling her crisp pressed attire, and nestling her head into Clarke’s lap.

In shock, Clarke’s gaze ripped from the pages of her book to the woman whose head now lie in her lap, seemingly content to hum to whomever was chattering away in her ear while mapping constellations upon Clarke’s palm.

Transfixed by the deliberate strokes, Clarke missed the conclusion of the call.

“The feel of your skin beneath the tips of my fingers calm me,” Lexa confessed, fascinated by the way Clarke’s skin felt beneath the pads of her fingers, “It is as though you are the tranquility and clarity amidst a summer storm, tumultuous and disorientating.” Lacing their fingers together, Lexa shifted to her side, drawing with it Clarke’s obedient arm to drape over her midsection like a blanket on a cool autumn day, “I crave you as an addict does their drug of choice. It exhilarates yet petrify me.”

Minutes later, Lexa rolled back, gazing at Clarke as though she were the sun, moon and vastness of space, incredible and breathtaking. Clarke couldn’t resist allowing her fingers to run through the tamed brown locks, her book long forgotten and abandoned somewhere upon the carpet floor.

Eyes fluttering shut, the smallest of gasps escaped Lexa’s lips and it took every ounce of willpower Clarke possessed to not caress them with her own.

“Please, be kind to me in my selfishness,” croaked Lexa, tongue running over her seemingly dry lips, tracing over the faintest of scars that marred uppermost region of Clarke’s palm, “For I wish to never relinquish you.”


End file.
